


My Only Centerpiece

by porterville



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:05:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10908363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porterville/pseuds/porterville
Summary: Dennis's body is perfect and needs no modifications whatsoever. Especially not glasses.





	My Only Centerpiece

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trapezoidscheme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trapezoidscheme/gifts).



> Thanks trapezoidscheme for the really fun prompt! I really enjoyed writing this!
> 
> Title is from "Scars and Stitches" by Guster.

_ Thunk.  _ “SON OF- SON OF A GUN!”

Frank and Mac both had wide smiles of disbelief plastered on their faces, and Dee was clawing her hands through her hair in frustration. Charlie was still inexplicably frozen, hand planted firmly in the center of the dartboard. 

Dennis threw another dart. It missed the board by about three inches, landing among his many previous failed attempts. At least, he was pretty sure it did, because everything in that general area was getting pretty fuzzy. He attributed that to the drunkenness that came with a game like Chardee Macdennis, but felt the rage welling up inside him all the same as he failed again and again to make Charlie flinch. 

_ “Come on,  _ Dennis!” Dee shrieked. 

Dennis glared at her, then at Charlie’s stony face. He launched his last dart right at the center of his palm. The resulting sound was not dart-into-skin, but dart-into-drywall, and the bar erupted in noise. Dee screeched and Charlie, Frank, and Mac celebrated obnoxiously. 

Dennis saw red.  _ “Goddammit!”  _ he screamed.  _ “Fuck! Shit! Son of a bitch!” _

“Stop the clock!” Mac jabbed a finger in his face. “Rule violation!” 

A new round of shouting began as Charlie slammed a hand down on the timer and the Golden Geese were handed two bottles of wine.  _ “Losers!  _ We’re finally gonna win!” Charlie gave Mac a high five. 

Dee glared at Dennis, uncorking her wine as if she were snapping a neck. “Do you need glasses or something, dipshit?”

— 

“I don’t know what you’re so pissed about!” Mac had his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. He struggled to keep up with Dennis’s angry gait. “You still won!”

“ _Barely_ , Mac!” Dennis fired back. “What good is success if it’s not  _ total  _ success?”

“Whatever,” Mac grumbled. He wrenched open the door to the stairwell, waving Dennis through. “Can’t believe you missed that many darts. Your hand-eye coordination is shit, bro.”

Dennis scoffed, reaching out for the railing. Except the railing wasn’t there. He grabbed for thin air, then crashed to the ground, hearing and feeling a  _ crunch  _ as his hands connected with stairs. 

“Oh,  _ shit!”  _ Mac’s demeanor snapped from resentment to concern. “What was that? Are you okay?” 

Dennis tried to get his bearings before he looked up at Mac. He couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, his head still cloudy from all the wine. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just a little buzzed-“ He stuck his hands out to push himself back up, but let out a sharp hiss of pain when his left hand hit the ground. 

Mac crouched. “Is it your arm?” He grabbed for it. 

“Hey, don’t-!” Dennis started, but Mac’s touch was surprisingly gentle. He tapped his thumb up and down Dennis’s wrist. 

“Where does it hurt the most?” 

Dennis gasped. “Right there.” 

Mac grimaced and nodded. “You should ice it. Then I think we’ve got some ace bandage in the cupboard. Let’s go!” Mac got a hand behind his back and under his knees before Dennis realized what he was doing. 

“Whoa, hey, I can still  _ walk,  _ you don’t have to-“

“No way, bro,” Mac said. “Too risky.”

He rolled his eyes but figured it was easier to let Mac have his heroic moment. It was slow going and kind of uncomfortable, but he never really felt like he was about to be dropped, so he didn’t complain until he was dumped unceremoniously on the couch. “Christ, be  _ gentle,  _ you savage.” 

Mac disappeared into the bathroom, and Dennis heard some loud rummaging. He winced, hoping Mac wasn’t screwing up his product set-up too badly. He gingerly tried moving his wrist. It definitely wasn’t broken, but he’d jammed it up pretty good. He could’ve  _ sworn  _ the railing was there. How could he say he was in complete control of his body if he was grabbing at things that didn’t exist and flailing around on the ground? 

Mac was back, a roll of bandage and a plastic baggy full of ice in his hands. He held Dennis’s wrist and started wrapping it up. Dennis eyed him carefully and said, “You sure you know how to do this?”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Mac said confidently. “Y’know, all that screwing around with Charlie when we were kids - it was easier to just learn first aid than to keep running back to his mom.” He finished off the wrap and smiled up at him. “How’s that feel?”

He looked down at his tightly wrapped wrist, then up to Mac. “Better,” he said truthfully. 

Mac handed him the makeshift icepack, then walked over to the kitchen. “Why don’t we kick back and watch a movie or something?” he said over his shoulder. He grabbed two big bottles from the fridge and held them up. “Which one d’you want?” 

Dennis squinted and leaned forward. He couldn’t read either label from where he was, and they were about the same color. “Uh… either way.”

“They’re pretty different-tasting, dude.”

He wracked his brain, trying to remember which sodas they’d bought last time they were at the Wawa. He came up empty, so he waved his hand vaguely. “That one.”

Mac lowered the bottles a fraction.  _ “Which  _ one?”

_ “I don’t care,  _ Mac!” Dennis snapped. 

Mac cocked his head to the side, and even though Dennis couldn’t accurately read the expression on his face, he was sure it was infuriating. He put the bottles on the counter behind him and held up a hand. “Dennis, how many fingers am I holding up?” 

The longer he couldn’t answer, the stupider he felt. How  _ dare  _ Mac test him like this? He clenched his fists and was on his feet quickly. “How do you expect me to answer that? Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn far away-“

“We’re like fifteen feet apart!”

“We’re at least twenty and you know it, you son of a bitch,” Dennis countered. “You’re standing there like you’re all knowledgeable with your first aid and shit, asking me questions with impossible answers - you asshole! You bitch!” 

Mac slammed his fist on the counter. “I  _ knew  _ it!” He approached Dennis, arms crossed, his smug expression coming into view. “You need glasses, bro.”

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Dennis said sharply. Mac was speaking in riddles, and Dennis was having none of it. “You’re saying I don’t understand you or something?” 

“No,” Mac said. “I mean you have bad eyesight. You need glasses!”

He faltered.  _ “Glasses?”  _ he said. “Glasses for  _ my  _ eyes? Who do you think I am?” 

“I mean-“ Mac’s hands raised and lowered, landing heavily on his thighs. “What if you end up like Frank, getting into car accidents and shit?”

Dennis had a brief vision of himself as an old, ugly, bespectacled copy of Frank and came close to throwing up. “Mac, even if I  _ did  _ have bad eyesight, I don’t need to get glasses. I’ve been fine so far-“

“You sprained your wrist ten minutes ago!”

“That was because I’m drunk, asshole!” Dennis yelled. 

Mac pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, dude, I’m putting my foot down. You gotta at least go to the glasses store and get checked out, alright?”

“It’s a total waste of-“

“Just to prove it.” Mac opened his hands in a sort of surrender. “If your eyes are fine, then they’re fine. Or, like, you could get contacts.”

The possibility of contact lenses hadn’t occurred to him. Contacts probably wouldn’t be that bad, he reasoned. Either way, his eyes were fine, and the opportunity to rub that in Mac’s face in front of a medical professional was too good to pass up. “Fine. We’ll go.”

“Cool! Let’s watch a movie,” Mac said, grabbing the remote and landing on the couch. “Or,  _ I’ll  _ watch a movie and you can watch me watch a movie, I guess.” 

Dennis rolled his eyes, but sat down next to him anyway.

—

Of course, Mac had to tag along to his actual optometrist appointment instead of just waiting in the lobby. He said it was to preserve the integrity of their bet, but Dennis hadn’t realized their bet was this rigidly defined. Either way, Dennis was going to win. 

“You got, like, every line wrong,” he told Dennis as they waited to Dr. Stevens to come back with his results. “I could read them perfect because my eyesight’s, like, amazing. I’ve got the eyes of a hawk, dude.”

“You think  _ I  _ don’t have the eyes of a hawk?” Dennis snapped, but he couldn’t help but think about the uncertainty and hesitation he’d felt when he read of the eye chart. The letters had just been so goddamn  _ small.  _ How could anyone, even someone with hawk eyes, read those little things?

The door opened and Dennis crossed his arms preemptively. “Mr. Reynolds,” Dr. Stevens began. “You say you’ve never had glasses before?”

“I don’t have bad eyesight,” Dennis said. 

“Well, the eyes can deteriorate as you age.”

_ “Age?”  _ Dennis just about shrieked. 

“What’s the damage?” Mac asked.

“It looks like you’ve got two diopters of nearsightedness in your left eye, three in the right, and an astigmatism in both eyes.” He handed Dennis his prescription sheet. “You need glasses.”

Dennis’s head spun, and Mac yelled,  _ “Two  _ ‘stigmatisms! I win, Den!”

“Okay, fine,” Dennis said, trying and failing to read his prescription. “That’s fine. That’s cool. I’ll get contacts, everything’ll be the same.”

“Your insurance doesn’t cover contact lenses,” Dr. Stevens interjected.

“Well, who  _ asked  _ you, Doc?” Dennis barked. He flexed his hands open and closed, trying to get back to a levelheaded place. “I mean-  _ fine,  _ fine. When can I get my  _ glasses?”  _ It was hard to get his mouth around the word, like the more he acknowledged it the more he could feel his skin wrinkling and his hair greying. He shot a glare over at Mac in frustration, but he still seemed to be riding the high of being right about something. 

“About a week.” Dr. Stevens opened the door and gestured to the hallway. “If you want to go and pick out a pair of fra-“

“As if it would matter what the  _ cage  _ I’m putting on my face  _ looks  _ like!” He sprung up and briskly walked out the door. He heard Mac’s heavy footfalls behind him, but didn’t turn around and kept walking out into the parking lot, and didn’t stop until he landed heavily in the front seat of the Range Rover. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel and his fingers tapped on its hard surface. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them again things would be clearer, and if they weren’t, he would just keep them closed. 

He had a few minutes to seethe before the passenger side door opened and Mac was next to him. “Alright,” he said, and clapped his hands together. “So you’re getting glasses! That’s exciting!”

“No it’s not,” Dennis said, eyes still closed. “I don’t want glasses.” 

“But you’ll see better,” Mac said. “Why not?”

He let out a long, slow breath and opened his eyes. “Because I don’t want to look like Frank. I don’t want to be old and ugly.”

Immediately, Mac scoffed. “You’re not his kid. You’re never gonna look like Frank!” Dennis let his hands fall from the steering wheel, but didn’t say anything, so Mac kept talking. “Look, dude. Nobody’s gonna think you’re ugly. You’re the Looks for a reason! Glasses aren’t gonna change that.” Dennis looked over at Mac’s elbow, casually leaned against the center console. The easy invasion of his personal space didn’t exactly  _ bother _ him, but it was something he was acutely aware of. “The Looks should be able to  _ see,  _ right?” 

Dennis stared at his hands. “You still think I’m the Looks?” 

“Of  _ course,  _ man,” Mac said. “And coming from the Brains, that’s a huge compliment.” 

He looked Mac in the eyes, and he seemed so sincere that Dennis found the strength to smile at him. “Yeah, thank you.” He stuck the key in the ignition and started the car. 

Mac smirked. “You sure you should be driving?”

“Put your goddamn seat belt on.”

—

He had a week to dwell on the fact that his body was falling apart, eyes first. Now that he had unavoidable proof, he did notice how further away things were getting, the more muddled together everything was. He tried not to let the reality of it overcome him, but Mac wasn’t helping. He’d already demanded to the gang to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t fall into any holes - where all these  _ holes  _ were, Dennis had no idea - and he’d moved their television three feet closer to the couch. He let Mac have his little delusion of getting to make decisions, but he had to draw the line at some point. 

They were standing on a corner waiting for the walk signal when Mac wrapped an arm around his. Dennis flinched and tried to catch his eye, but Mac looked steadfastly forward. “Excuse me, what is  _ this?” _

Mac shook his head like it was obvious. “You’re blind as shit, bro,” he said. “We’re about to walk into a populated area. I don’t want you getting lost!” 

Dennis tipped his head back and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ - Okay. Whatever. But not so touchy-feely, okay? This looks weird. How about-“ He carefully took Mac’s arm off his and took his hand instead. “This.” 

Mac squinted at him for a second. “That’s acceptable.” 

Mac led him around the city like this for the rest of the week, ostensibly to make sure he didn’t lose track of his surroundings. At first it made him feel even more useless, but… He couldn’t pinpoint it, but as time went on, he appreciated the careful looks Mac gave him, and the way he gave his hand a quick squeeze every now and then. In fact, he would be downright lying if he said he didn’t like the way Mac’s hand felt in his. But Dennis was pretty good at lying to himself. 

The week came and went. “Maybe this  _ won’t  _ be terrible,” Dennis said. “I’ll look distinguished. Cultured.” 

“As long as people still know that I’m the Brains.” Mac had led him safely into the waiting room a good ten minutes ago, but he still hadn’t let go of his hand. He reasoned that the waiting room was empty, and nobody would give them any shit for… whatever was happening between them. He could relax a little. Maybe he could even enjoy it. 

Dr. Stevens appeared, and Dennis decided not to analyze the reason he didn’t immediately let go of Mac’s hand. “Mr. Reynolds,” he said, and held up a glasses case. “You’re here for these, right?” It occurred to Dennis then that he’d never picked out a style of frames. He turned to Mac, who was beaming. 

_ “I  _ picked them out!” he shouted. “I picked out your glasses!” 

“Oh.” Any optimism Dennis might’ve had flew out the window, but he tried to keep his face neutral. “Can I see them?” 

Dr. Stevens handed him the case and led them to a mirror. Dennis braced himself for a pair of hideous, thick, nerdy frames Mac would’ve found hilarious, and opened the case. 

“Huh,” he said. “These aren’t that bad.” They were simple black frames, and he couldn’t think of any outfit in his closet that they wouldn’t look okay with. 

“You like ‘em?” Mac said excitedly. “Do you recognize them? They’re the same ones Thundergun wears in the pre-apocalyptic scene at the beginning of the movie!” 

“Oh, really? Sweet!” Dennis smiled at him. “Thanks, dude!” 

“So, would you like to try them on?” Dr. Stevens said. 

“Don’t rush me,” Dennis snapped, but he unfolded the frames and put them on. 

He gasped. “Holy shit.” He couldn’t look at enough things fast enough; everything was in such sharp detail and he was noticing it all. He saw a little blue dot pattern on the carpet he hadn’t discerned before. He could read every word of the sign on the store across the street. He could even tell what type of flowers they had sat on their window sill. He laughed giddily. “You’re telling me  _ everyone  _ sees like-“

When he looked at Mac, though, he very plainly saw how slack-jawed and red he looked. When their eyes met, he cleared his throat and smiled faintly. “What?” Dennis asked. 

“Nothing!” he said. “You look, uh, you look really good.” 

He touched the frames lightly, pushing them a little further up his nose. He felt something welling up in his chest that he wasn’t sure he could attribute to the new glasses. 

They left, and he didn’t say anything when Mac took his hand. 

—

The peaceful lull couldn’t sustain itself for longer than a few days. Dennis just couldn’t bring himself to wear those damn things. He had yet to walk into the bar with them on, even; he knew he didn’t have to explain himself to those savages, but he didn’t want to deal with the gang’s unsolicited opinions one way or the other. Plus, he didn’t have to see Mac’s condescending looks if he couldn’t see anything.

He opened the door to their apartment one day to see Mac sitting on the couch, but he stood up when he saw Dennis. “We need to talk, bro.” 

Dennis’s stomach flip-flopped. “About what?” 

Mac held up his glasses. “How often do you wear these? _ ”  _

Dennis rolled his eyes and took the glasses from him. “I wear them enough.” 

Mac looked at him in disbelief and took the glasses back. “You haven't been wearing them at  _all!_  I know because they’ve been sitting next to my protein powder for five days!” 

“I wear them just as often as I want to,” Dennis said. 

“Dennis, most falling deaths happen in your own home!” Mac gestured wildly with Dennis’s glasses. “You gotta start taking this shit seriously-“

“Mac,  _ stop!”  _ Dennis slashed his hand in Mac’s face like a conductor cutting off an orchestra. “I’ve just about had it with this nonsense! I don’t need them! Drop it!” 

Mac gave him a hard glare, then crossed to the other side of the apartment. He raised a hand sharply. “How many fingers am I holding up, bitch?” 

Dennis rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“Don’t know?” He stepped forward. “How ‘bout now?” 

Dennis shrugged and shook his head. Mac stepped forward again, and Dennis finally saw that he was holding up three fingers. But something tugged at him. He felt Mac’s challenging gaze, and he was determined to win whatever this was. He shrugged again.

Mac got closer. He was two feet away, and they both knew there was no way Dennis couldn’t see him clearly by now. Dennis crossed his arms and didn’t break eye contact. He watched Mac’s expression fade from anger to confusion to suspicion. It was only when he was close enough that Dennis actually couldn’t see his hand anymore that Mac spoke. “Uh… How about now?” 

They were so close that their noses were touching, and Dennis was quickly forgetting whatever it was he was trying to do. He had to cross his eyes to keep looking at him. But the feeling kept pulling at him, and it sent him directly at Mac. 

Mac kissed him back eagerly, his arms wrapping around Dennis’s shoulders. Dennis put everything he had into it, sure that Mac would somehow blame a poor performance on his eyesight. Something was poking him in the back of the head, and he realized with a pang of annoyance that Mac still had his glasses in his hand. He pushed through. This was too good for a pair of glasses to ruin. 

They finally broke apart, foreheads still resting together. Dennis breathed heavily, looking back into his eyes. “Three,” he said. 

Mac nodded. “You win.” He leaned back in breathlessly, and Dennis decided maybe he would wear his glasses every once in a while. Just to shut Mac up. 


End file.
